Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.

The sudden bang of the living room door breaking open sent a shockwave through the room. The Lancaster family's gathered silence was shattered as all eyes turned to the source of the noise.

A girl stumbled into the room, her white dress drenched in blood. The sight was jarring, and the room collectively froze. The girl blinked, clearly as startled by the unexpected gathering of people as they were by her appearance. For a split second, she considered turning and fleeing, but then—

"How dare you!" William S. Lancaster's voice cracked through the tension, sharp and furious. "There are guests in the house, and you don't even greet them?!" His anger reverberated off the walls.

The girl hesitated, her figure momentarily frozen. She could have turned back, slipped away unnoticed. But a cold voice stopped her in her tracks.

"And this is...?" Albert Wilson's voice was crisp, his tone a subtle blend of curiosity and command.

Despite her reputation for defying authority, Cynthia knew the voice belonged to one of the guests. With a reluctant sigh, she paused and turned back around, forced to face the people in the room.

"Well, well, what's this?" Doreen Lancaster's voice sliced through the tension, dripping with disdain. "Covered in blood—have you killed someone or what?"

"Shut up!" William S. Lancaster's command was quick and harsh, his patience worn thin. His gaze flicked to the girl by the door, his anger barely contained, before he forced a smile toward Albert Wilson. "Albert, this is my youngest daughter, Cynthia. She's still a student, so we didn't think it appropriate to introduce her to the Vice President just yet."

Albert Wilson barely reacted to the explanation. Instead, he languidly raised his gaze to study the girl before him. His eyes, dark and calculating, narrowed in cool appraisal as he took in the sight of Cynthia's disheveled figure. Blood marred her white dress, but it was more than just a stain—it was a striking contrast to her pale skin and long black hair that hung in messy waves, covering her face.

For a moment, he observed her silently, intrigued by the contrast between her plain appearance and the dramatic entrance she'd made. Despite her seemingly docile demeanor, something in her eyes caught his attention—a flicker of something untamed, something he could use.

"Miss Lancaster..." His voice was as smooth as silk, but the underlying chill sent a shiver down her spine. "I think your youngest daughter suits my taste quite well. How about... her?"

The room erupted into shocked murmurs, gasps of disbelief filling the air. Doreen Lancaster shrieked, jumping from her seat, her face contorting with frustration and anger.

Cynthia, however, did not flinch. Her gaze remained locked on Albert, and for the first time, she felt something stir inside her—an instinctual reaction to the dangerous man before her. She could feel his presence like a predator closing in on its prey.

She had assumed she would be overlooked, dismissed like always. But here he was, a man of power and menace, targeting her. Cynthia swallowed the bitter taste rising in her throat, trying to keep her composure.

Albert Wilson's eyes roamed over her, taking in the subtle change in her posture, the faint unease that crossed her face. But before he could process his thoughts further, she met his gaze with defiance.

"Do you love me?" he asked, his voice low and insistent.

The question was absurd, even laughable. Cynthia's brow furrowed in confusion. She took a deep breath, suppressing the disgust bubbling inside her. She rolled her eyes dramatically, her voice laced with sarcasm as she muttered, "Crazy."

Albert's eyes flashed with something akin to amusement. Most women would have been too intimidated, too awestruck by his presence to react in such a manner. But Cynthia... she was different. Her cold, indifferent response intrigued him. The more she resisted, the more he was drawn to her, the challenge appealing to his pride.

He smiled, his lips curving in a way that made the room's temperature drop a few degrees. "Then… would you marry me?"

Her anger flared again, but before she could voice it, something unexpected happened. Cynthia's lips curved into a smile—a smile so dazzling and unexpected that it seemed to light up the room. But there was no warmth in it, no joy. Instead, her gaze flicked behind Albert, where Vincent, her brother-in-law, stood.

" Vincent," Cynthia's voice was sweet, but there was something mischievous in her tone, "what do you think… should I marry him?"

The words hung in the air, the room freezing in an oppressive silence. Vincent remained impassive, his expression unreadable, but Cynthia continued her one-sided conversation as though he wasn't even there.

"Fine," she said, her smile growing even sweeter, "Then I'll marry him!"

Before Albert Wilson could even process her words, Cynthia grabbed him by the collar, pulling his face down to meet hers. She pressed her lips to his, but the kiss was cold, calculated—a calculated act of revenge, a way to provoke the man she despised.

Yet, even as their lips met, her gaze never left the person behind him. Vincent. Her eyes flickered with something darker, something more bitter, and Albert realized—this kiss was not for him.

Her eyes, dark and full of mockery, told him everything. She was using him, and in that moment, Albert Wilson felt something he hadn't expected—irritation. His grip tightened on her waist, and with a sudden shift, he pulled her closer, his lips claiming hers with an intensity that left no room for escape. His kiss was aggressive, hungry, as though he were trying to dominate her, to remind her that she was not in control here.

The force of his kiss was a statement—she might think she could use him, but Albert Wilson would not be anyone's pawn.

Cynthia, stunned but not surprised, felt a flicker of something—rage, perhaps, or perhaps satisfaction. It was clear to her now: no matter how cold and indifferent she remained, Albert Wilson would always make the rules.